Yolette was the first to grant my prayer. She sashayed off toward Orange Street when Etienne seized my hand and placed a kiss on it again. Ick and double ick, because his lips left a faint smell of blood behind. Had she belted him one in the kisser and I missed it? Darned shame if I did, but I let the thought slide away as Etienne strolled off after Yolette.
Stony stabbed me with a look that could stake and followed Etienne. I might’ve been alarmed for the couple, but I was sick of all three of them. Doesn’t make me a good person, but it does make me human.
Gomer was the next to leave with a drawling “Bye, ma’am” and a wave. I did feel better when he strolled off in the same direction the newlyweds and Stony had taken, sure that he’d report it if Stony got violent. See? I’m not totally heartless.
Shalimar Millie looked tired and troubled as she and her friends left, and I hoped the fast pace I’d set tonight hadn’t done her any harm. They headed in the same direction as the rest, toward the tourist center parking garage.
When just the writers remained, I chatted with them for a while. I learned two of them were published—the two with the recorders—and three were aspiring. After getting their names and titles of their books, I offered to get them passes for another tour that would take them into the haunted buildings. Since they were all visiting from Texas and on a limited budget, they accepted and thanked me.
I stowed the lantern in the locker and headed back to Maggie’s, dialing the tour office as I went. No time like the present to mention those free passes. I’d e-mail a full report and another request for the writers’ passes later. If the tour company refused, I’d pay for them myself. Maybe I’d get an extra three for Shalimar Millie and her friends. If I ever saw the ladies again, I’d have the tickets handy.
Two problem tours on my first two nights as a guide. Gee, I could hardly wait for Thursday. I almost wished the tour company would fire me. Or at least give me hazardous duty pay.
Exhausted as I was, I decided to walk back along the seawall. Seeing the sailboats at anchor and breathing the cool air would calm me before I studied.
I cut through to Castillo Drive, passing the Mill Top Tavern, where music still pulsed in the night. Just as I reached the sidewalk running past the Castillo de San Marcos—the old fort—someone shouted my name. Gomer, I saw when I turned, loping up to join me. There went my time to unwind.
“Hey, Miss Cesca.”
“Hey, Gom—” I stopped so short, I gave my tongue whiplash. “I’m sorry, I’ve, um, forgotten your name.”
“It’s Holland, ma’am,” he drawled, a hint of a grin curving his lips as if he knew what I’d almost said. “Holland Peters, but everybody calls me Holland.”
Holland. Unusual, and now that he said it, I remembered it from Monday’s witness list. “Good name,” I said, smiling.
“Yes’m. It runs in my family.”
I suppressed a chuckle. “Where are you from, Holland?”
“Well, I was born—” He pronounced it bore-un. “—in North Carolina, but I’ve traveled all over the South.”
“Oh? Doing what?”
“You know, this and that. Fixin’ cars, loadin’ trucks, deliverin’ furniture.” He shrugged. “Mind if a walk with you a ways?”
Evasive about where he’s from and what he does. Noted. Was I in danger? Doubtful. I glanced at the gently rocking boats in the bay. The curse of good manners is that it’s hard to say no to polite requests. And, hey, I could have worse company. I wrapped my shawl a bit tighter.
“Let’s walk, Holland.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
He was quiet as we headed south on the waterfront sidewalk toward the Bridge of Lions. To my left, the seawall was lined with posts called bollards, each bollard connected by nautical-sized chain. The chains weren’t enough of a barrier to keep someone from ending up in the Matanzas Bay, but Holland wasn’t crowding me. If anything, he straddled his side of the walkway.
“Um, Miss Cesca,” he finally said, “I thought you’d want to know, that French couple got off all right. I mean, the weird man followed them, but the house they’re rentin’ is in some fancy neighborhood, so they should be safe.”
I blinked. “How do you know?”
“They told me,” he said simply. “People tell me things, and I pay attention.”
Uh-huh. “That was nice of you. I’m glad to know they’ll be safe.”
“Yes’m. But I wanted to make sure you were safe, too.”
I slanted a glance at him. “I thought you said Stony—I mean, the weird guy—left.”
Holland nodded eagerly. “He did, ma’am, but he could have friends watchin’ you. Or he could come back.” He shrugged again. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Why did that sound like a veiled threat? Hmmm. Paranoia? I walked just a little faster and asked, “Why would you care if Stony or one of his friends got me?”
He stopped trotting at my side, mouth open in shock. “Because you’re a nice lady.”
“You think I’m a lady?”
“Of course.” A stride brought him level with me again. “And my ma would tan my hide if I let a lady walk home by herself. Especially after someone threatened her.”
I gazed into apparently guileless gray eyes. Psychic shutdown or not, my BS meter was spiking like crazy. Half truths and secrets. That’s what I sensed from him. Then again, I still felt relatively safe, and I was curious enough to see what else Holland might tell me.
“Well, then, thank you for seeing me home.” I paced off again, trailing my hand on the thick ship’s chain strung along the seawall. “So, are you visiting in town or do you live here?”
“I live over in Palatka for now.”
“You take the ghost tours often?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. I wanted to see you.”
I looked up sharply. “Why?”
“You lived history,” he said, sweeping his right arm to indicate the city. “You were here before Henry Flagler was even born, much less before he changed this place with the railroads and big fancy hotels and churches and all.”
Couldn’t argue that I predated Henry Flagler and the improvements he’d brought to St. Augustine, but I didn’t buy Holland as a big history buff.
“And you came back tonight just to see me again?”
He looked away. “No, ma’am. Not exactly.”
We’d reached the corner, and paused for the traffic light to change. He didn’t tower over me, but I had to look up. “Why don’t you just spill it, Holland?”
“The man you call Stony—good one, by the way.”
“Yes?” Pulling teeth here.
“Fact is, ma’am, he’s been in Palatka and Hastings talkin’ up this Covenant thing. Talkin’ about killin’ humans who have dealin’s with vampires, too.”
“Do the authorities know?”
“I don’t know, but I ain’t the one to report him.”
“Yet you’re warning me.”
“Seein’s how he came after you last night, yeah.”
The light changed, and we crossed in silence. I had no trouble believing that Stony was recruiting, but it didn’t ring true that Holland feared the man. Not from the way he acted during the tour tonight. So who was Holland, really?
I almost took a shot at reading him, but as we stood at the corner of Charlotte and Cathedral, a half block from home, I spotted Maggie on her hands and knees on the sidewalk. She cradled one arm as if it were broken. Cat—giant, brain-rattling-meow Cat—sat next to her, rubbing its face on the gray sweats Maggie wore.
I didn’t think about moving, I was just there in a flash, hunkered beside her.
“Maggie!”
She rose so fast, we bumped heads.
“Ouch. Maggie, are you hurt? Is your arm broken?”
She rubbed her forehead. “Just my dignity. Some damn big cat wouldn’t move away from the door while I unlocked it, then the darn door stuck, and I strained my wrist trying to keep from dropping everything.”
I looked around us. Two bundles of paint sample strips fanned out on the sidewalk along with bulky fabric samples bound together with O-rings. Rolled papers I recognized as architectural drawings stuck out of the mix. Cat was gone.
“At least you didn’t break anything,” I breathed with relief, snagging her keys from the sidewalk. I’d puzzle over Cat later.
“May I help?” a masculine voice over us asked. Holland. I’d forgotten about him.
We both assisted Maggie to her feet, and I made quick introductions while he bent to pick up and pass Maggie the fabric swatches and rolled-up drawings. When he leaned over again to get the paint sample bundles, a wind gust from the bay caught his short shirttail and flipped it up over the waistband of his polyester pants.
Where a butt crack might have been, I saw something worse.
In the small of his back, a matte black metal grip stuck out of his waistband.
Holland “Gomer” Peters carried a gun.
SIX
Surprised? Shocked? Full-scale flipping out?
Bingo, I was flipping. Way out.
Irrational, maybe, but who expects Gomer to be packing heat? Okay, he’s not Gomer. And, okay, the Jag Queens toted, but that was different. They wouldn’t shoot me, or Maggie either.
Would Holland shoot us? I hadn’t feared him until I saw the gun. Now his half truths and secrets seemed sinister.
He almost caught me staring as he straightened with the last of Maggie’s things, but I stretched my mouth into what I hoped was a bright smile.
“Here, I’ll take those.” I snagged the paint samples from him. “Don’t want Maggie to strain that wrist more, do we?”
“Uh, no, ma’am.”
“Well, thanks for the escort home, Holland.” I turned to my roomie and nudged her toward the tenants’ door. “Let’s dump this stuff and check your wrist, Maggie.” When he moved to open the door, I rushed on. “Thanks, again, and, uh, have a good night.”
“You, too, Miss Cesca, Miss Maggie. Y’all take care now.”
I closed the heavy glass door, checked the automatic lock, and hustled Maggie to the elevator around the corner. Out of Holland’s line of sight and line of fire. Sure, if he’d wanted to shoot me, he could’ve done it anytime, but, hey, logic didn’t count when I was having a nice, healthy panic attack.
“Cesca, what the hell are you doing? What’s the rush?”
The elevator doors stuttered open, and I hip-bumped her into the car, thinking fast. “We need to get ice on that wrist before it swells too much. And aspirin. You probably want some aspirin, right?”
“I want to know what the problem is.”
I entered the penthouse code on the elevator panel and pressed our floor button rapid-fire five times. “Gomer. I mean Holland,” I corrected as the car chugged upward. “His real name is Holland. I told you and Neil about him. He was on my tour last night, and he came back tonight.”
“Wow, you must’ve made a good impression. You have a date?”
I snorted. “Hardly.”
“Why not? He looks a little goofy, but he seemed nice, and I saw you staring at his butt. Did you get cold feet?”
I didn’t want to worry her, but Holland had seen Maggie and now knew where we lived. She had to be on guard.
We reached the sixth floor, and I lurched to the carved cypress penthouse door. “I wasn’t staring at his butt,” I told her as the lock slid open. “I was staring at his gun.”
“Excuse me?”
“His gun, Maggie. He had a gun stashed at the small of his back. Just like in the movies.”
“Maybe he’s a cop,” she said as we dumped her samples and drawings on the couch.
“Cops wear their guns in holsters.”
She considered a minute. “Not if they’re undercover.”
“Undercover?” I rolled the idea around, replayed his actions, his words. All right. It was possible.
Except that Holland didn’t want to report Stony to the cops. His way of sidestepping because he was undercover?
“Cesca.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking. I guess you could be right.”
“Tell me what happened tonight.”
I did, from the tourists who showed up to Holland walking me home and our conversation. I fixed an ice bag for her wrist while I talked.
“Did you get any particular vibes from this Holland guy?” she asked when I finished.
“Psychically, no, but he’s lying about something.”
“Did you ever sense danger directed at you?”
“No, but seeing the gun gave me second thoughts. He just doesn’t feel right.”
“Sounds like this guy is on something like a hate-crimes task force. An undercover fed,” my ever-practical Maggie said, taking the ice to the sink. “The best thing to do is stay alert when you’re out, and keep your phone charged and with you.”
“You need to do the same. Neil’s gonna have a fit when he finds out Holland knows where we live.”
“No, he won’t, because we aren’t telling him. He’ll just get his shorts in a bunch and drive me crazy, and I don’t have time for that right now. Speaking of which, I need to get to work.”
“Tonight?”
She nodded and crossed to the couch to snag her samples with her good arm. “The Jax Beach restoration client—the one who’s fired four interior designers—changed her mind about colors and fabrics. Again.”
“So you’re stepping in?”
“I have to. Until she settles on colors, I can’t order the kitchen tile.”
“Want some help?” I carried a second load of materials to the kitchen table.
She cocked her head. “No homework? No tests tonight?”
“Nope. My landscape test is tomorrow night. I’ll take it after bridge club.”
“In that case, go change, and let’s get crackin’.”
Cosmil stood in the plaza across from Francesca’s building beside the remnants of an old town well. Pandora in her house-cat form sat on her haunches at his side, her tail swishing the grass.
The man who’d walked with Francesca crossed the street to the plaza and paced between two benches as he pushed buttons on his cellular phone. Only yards away, it was not difficult for Cosmil and Pandora to overhear.
“I saw Miss Cesca home like you asked, but she spotted my gun. I’m sure of it.”
A woman’s voice floated through the airwaves, but the words were indistinct.
“Yes’m, she got away from me as fast as she could. She’s not likely to trust me now.”
The woman spoke again, briefly.
“All right. Maybe I’ll tell her I’m a PI, but it’ll have to wait. I have another case to take care of in Daytona.”
With a last “Yes’m,” the man disconnected his call, gave his phone a resigned look, and punched another set of numbers.
Cosmil heard one word, “Report,” before casting a shield around Pandora and himself to protect them from the malefic energy lashing through the line.
“I’ve searched the beach house, but not the car.”
An angry voice whipped through the phone.
“No opportunity. I’ll try again and search the other man’s place tomorrow.” He paused, listened. “The Marinelli woman has nothin’ to do with it. Yes, damn it, I’m certain.” He paused again to listen. “Then send someone else to do the job. I’m doin’ what you want and nothin’ more.”
A growl so loud emanated from the phone, Pandora raised her hackles and flattened her ears.
A spate of angry, unintelligible words shot through the device, then silence. The man folded the phone closed, cursed, and strode out of the plaza to disappear around the corner.
Cosmil glided to the sidewalk and looked up. Low lights shone through the sixth-floor windows where Francesca and the other woman lived.
I can find that man and kill him quickly.
Cosmil glanced at Pandora, then back at the light. “No need. He is not the threat, and Francesca is safe enough for
now. We will not interfere.” Francesca’s silhouette passed by the window. “Not yet.”
The second voice. Who was it?
Cosmil grimaced. “One of the true monsters, my friend. Come, I have spells to prepare.”
We worked only an hour on the new presentation board. Maggie refused to labor any longer on it—not when she was sure the client would change her mind a half-dozen more times. I refilled her ice bag, insisted she take a pain reliever, and sent her to bed.
After I repacked Maggie’s materials, I soaked in a long, hot bath and thought about Holland. Maybe he was on an undercover sting of the Covenant. If so, whatever evidence he was looking for, I hoped he got it soon. Either way, I’d be calling the cops if Holland came near Maggie or me again.
I slipped on a St. Augustine nightshirt and memory foam dolphin slippers and e-mailed the tour company about passes for the writers, with three more for Shalimar Millie and her friends.
I tried to study, but after helping Maggie, I was too wired with design ideas. After doodling and sketching for a while, a flip through the on-screen TV guide revealed a mini-marathon of the Highlander series. Adrian Paul could take my mind off just about anything, and, yes, by watching him fight the good battles, I fought my own. The slash and scrape and ring of steel on steel reminded me of swordplaying with Triton eons ago.
I veered away from lingering thoughts of the boy and man who’d been my childhood playmate, then girlhood crush, and finally my dearest friend. Missing him was a raw ache in my soul, and I was stressed enough.
Instead, I puzzled over Cat and why she’d been nearby tonight. Again. Why so much weirdness happening when I was just really getting my afterlife together? What happened to normal and predictable? I tell you, I couldn’t wait for the new moon to pass. I’d never missed my ability to purposely psyche out information like I had in the past two days. Even when I only got sporadic bits and pieces of answers, it was better than this exhausting game of guessing what the heck was going on.
Good thing tomorrow was Wednesday bridge club. I needed the relaxing competition of a rousing game.
For the first time in ages, I was asleep as dawn broke.
Bridge ran promptly from seven to nine with socializing at six thirty. By five forty-five, I was dressed in black jeans and my scoop-neck cobalt knit shirt with black sandals. A dab of makeup, my hair in a braid, and I was ready.
La Vida Vampire Page 6